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Sunday, 27 December 2015

Happy New Year! I hope each and everyone of you had a Bright Diwali, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, A cool Yule and Blessed Kwanzaa :)
Do you have any plans for the next 12 months? Projects? Trips? Exciting things your looking forward too?

I have lots of book projects in the works for the coming year. I tend to be more prolific this time of year than in the Spring/Summer. I'm not a fan of cold and snow. I'd rather be inside warm and cozy with my lap top. LOL (Which is why I often have release days between April and September.)

Then there is always my knitting projects. I must have at least four-six projects on the go at any given time. Right now I have two pairs of socks, two shawls, a shrug and a scarf on needles at the moment. I'll eventually get them all finished. The colder the winter the more projects I finish because I'm cold.

As it's been a abnormally mild winter so far, not that I'm complaining, but its not conducive to me finishing anything any time soon. There's a talk/type program called Dragon(?) that I'm going to try out. That way I can write and knit at the same time! I love that idea.

What do you do to encourage yourself to get things finished? I'm always looking out for something new to try.

I hope all the best for you and your families in the coming year. May the world be even more loving and understanding place when we all meet up again next year! Make sure to stop by and check out the posts of each of our hosts during the hop. Not only will you get to learn more about some of their favourite Canadian authors and books, but you’ll have the opportunity at each stop to enter the Grand Prize Giveaway...ENTER TO WIN!!a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, 11 December 2015

Michael
stared at the scene in front of him and wished he could laugh. Only
he’d lost his sense of humor sometime in the last century and had
yet to see it return. He rubbed at his chin and looked at his
secretary. It was so hard to find good help and so far Trixie had
been an excellent employee. But, of course, the first time he asked
her to do something complicated he ended up…well…he wasn’t
entirely sure where he’d ended up just yet.

Where
he wanted to be was inside Wynter’s thighs, grinding her to
completion until she called out his name, coming again and again,
until she never thought about another male for the rest of her
existence--Until she forgot there was such a thing as other men.

“I
asked you for four calling birds.”

“Yes.”
Sixty year old Trixie with her arthritic knee and back pains—she
did like to talk about them—rocked back on her heels. “But it
turns out, sir, there is no such thing, really, as a calling bird.”

There
had to be. He shook his head. He still didn’t understand exactly
why he was looking at the scene in front of him. “I’m sure if
we... what is the word... Google it. We can find out what a
calling bird is.”

“That
is exactly what I did. And it turns out that there are two distinct
meanings to the words ‘calling bird.’ I wasn’t exactly sure
which one you wanted so I brought both. This seemed like the best
place to show you.”

Well,
now, at last an explanation. He walked forward. The basement of his
office building wasn’t exactly the place to run into problems. Too
many civilians running around and although his enemies might claim
otherwise, he really wasn’t in the business of killing for no good
reason.

“I
see the birds. You have four of them. In that cage.” He couldn’t
believe how much of the damned rhyme required some kind of poultry.
So far he was up to his neck in the creatures. Everywhere he looked,
something was squawking.

Trixie
moved to stand next to him. “Right. The translation most people
subscribe to is that ‘calling birds’ is actually an Americanized
version of the word colly birds. Some places that’s actually what
they say. They’re, as you can see, black like soot. Hence the name,
I guess. But they’re really thrushes even though they look like
blackbirds. They’re actually not. Getting them here proved
challenging, but as you can see, I was up to the task.”

The
thrush took that second to chirp at him. Loudly. It didn’t like
being in the cage any more than he wanted it in his basement.
Particularly after the incident earlier with the two doves. Filthy
creatures had tried to go at it right then and there. He shuddered at
the memory.

If
he wasn’t regularly getting any, the means of his messages
shouldn’t be either. Damn it.

“That
all makes sense.” He pointed forward at the problem she still
hadn’t addressed. “What I don’t understand is why there are
four clearly drugged men in my basement, half naked.”

“Sir,
I really wanted to do a good job.”

He
needed a stiff drink. “I’m aware of that. Get to the point.”

“There
are multiple interpretations of the rhyme. Some people say it doesn’t
mean birds at all. But that the term ‘four calling birds’
actually refers to the Evangelists. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. So
I found you some. The one over there is Mark.”

He
followed where she pointed. Mark was a stout fellow with dark hair
and piercings on his nipples. Matthew, who she told him sat next to
Mark, was blond. He’d guess on the early side of twenty-five. Luke,
all the way to the right, he would put in his early forties although
being completely bald could make it hard to tell. And John was
somewhere in his thirties with just the beginnings of a gut showing.

“You’ll
note that in each of their laps I’ve placed a copy of their
gospels, in case you wanted to refer to it.”

No.
He certainly—most assuredly—did not want to read their gospels.
Bile rose in his throat, and he pushed away his angst.

“Trixie,
what did you drug these men with, and where did you find them?”

“They
answered an ad looking to have an affair. I rented an apartment for
the meet and greets. Took two days to get all the names covered. And
they’re shot up on some good old- fashioned heroin.”

Michael
shook his head and gritted his teeth. So apparently he was going to
have to bury some bodies. Four—no, he looked at Trixie—five
of them.

Terrible
when one’s secretary picked this time of year to show her psychotic
tendencies. He wouldn’t have minded seeing it around…the Ides of
March. Did she have to do this now?

Although
he had to give her credit--She’d been creative. In a million years
he never would have expected to have a Matthew, Luke, John, and Mark
drugged in his basement. Michael laughed, covering his mouth. Well
there it was.

His
sense of humor. Back for a brief second.

Wynter
had better be finding them the absolute perfect man for Christmas.
Although he supposed he could drop her off one of the four tied up
and see if she liked one.

Thursday, 10 December 2015

Michael
crunched through the ice and snow on the sidewalk as he made his way
to the beast of a car sitting in Wynter’s driveway. His cock
twitched at the memory of being inside her tight heat. She belonged
to him as much as the 12 cylinder. If she didn’t already know he
owned her, she would by the time this holiday was over.

“Fucking
right, she will,” he growled and punched the car to life.

He
eased himself back into the seat, flinching at the pain of where she
had laced her talons down his back in passion as she writhed in
undulating waves of orgasmic bliss. His flesh had mended enough to
not be bleeding in rivers, but it stung.

His
phone chimed in his pocket, and he drew it out, looking at the name
displayed.

“Yeah?
What do you want?”

“Where
do I deliver the package?”

The
sound of chirping and flapping birds was in the background.

“What
the fuck do you mean ‘where do you deliver the package?’”

“What?”
Gustav yelled.

Michael
held the phone away from his ear before yelling back,

“Where do you
think you’re supposed to deliver it?”

“There’s
no address listed on the shipping label.”

“I’m
surrounded by fucking idiots!”

“Michael,
sir, I-- ”

“Forget
it! Like everything else in this operation, I have to do this myself.
Leave it where it is, and I’ll take care of it.”

He
tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and shifted into reverse,
muttering to himself about the lack of good help.

Minutes
later, he maneuvered the growling car up the ramp into the warehouse
where he kept his business. Shifting into park, he threw the car door
open with such force it bounced back, slamming him inside before he
had moved to get out.

“Goddamn
it.”

Gustav
came running up to the car. Feathers were stuck to his face and
hands; a few quills were between the rims of his glasses and head.

After
opening the door more gently, Michael got out of the car and faced
his inept employee.

“What
the fuck happened?”

“They
got out, sir.”

“How
the hell did that happen?”

“I
don’t know, sir, but they are trapped inside your office. We were
able to seal the room.”

Throwing
his fingers through his hair, Michael tapped his boots on the
concrete floor as he thought about what a clusterfuck he was in. If
he didn’t get those damned winged creatures back into the birdcage
and delivered, there’d be hell to pay.

He
turned his head to look towards his office, seeing the birds sitting
on his coat rack in the corner.

Maybe
this would be easier than he thought.

“Come
on.” He pointed across the room to the golden contraption they had
somehow escaped. “Bring it with you.”

Stalking
over to the room, he stopped when he took hold of the door knob and
looked behind him at Gustav.

“On
the count of three.”

Gustav
nodded and a few feathers fell from his clothes to the ground.

Michael
went through the countdown, and then opened the door with his lackey
at his heels.

“What
the--” Michael said as his feet slipped out from underneath him,
and he fell backwards, taking Gustav to the floor with him.

“Shut
the door!” he yelled as the birds saw their opening and took
flight.

The
latch closed before the two turtle doves were able to find their
escape.

The
men got up, and Michael raised his hands in front of his face and
cursed, seeing them covered in the white slime of the birds’
excrement.

“Oh,
dear.” Gustav handed him his handkerchief, and Michael grabbed it,
wiping his hands as he looked at the dotted floor.

“Open
the cage.”

Michael
lunged at the nearest bird, taking it by its feet as it fought him to
not be confined. Thrusting its squawking body inside the cage,
Michael locked it in, and then went to battle the other.

That
one was crafty and flew through air, dodging the men’s attempts to
capture it.

“Stop,”
Michael ordered, and then they waited for the winged menace to settle
down.

When
it did, it landed on Gustav’s head and started pecking his scalp.

“Ow!”
Gustav jerked at the pain of the pricks into his skin as pieces of
his hair were plucked out.

“Don’t
you fucking move.” Michael avoided looking the dove in the eyes as
he waited until the perfect moment.

“Sir.”

“Shut
up.”

Then
the bird began to coo in a serenade of love to its partner who was
locked up.

“That’s
right,” Michael whispered, and in a flash of motion, snatched the
bird by the neck from the nest it had been making out of

Michael
sat the birds in the truck’s passenger seat, securing it by
latching the seatbelt around it. After getting into the driver’s
seat and starting up the engine, he rolled the window down for fresh
air.

“Wynter
had better find ‘the man’ after all of this. I did my part. Found
the two fucking turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”